it's kind of hard to explain
by SuperDuperLights
Summary: Love with a capital L; it's kind of hard to explain, unless you've felt the same. Stiles/Lydia


**it's kind of hard to explain**

**_Stiles/Lydia_**

* * *

><p>Something like a prayer makes its' way into her brain and she wishes for an answer to the question that's been taking over her thoughts. Buried in the back of her mind, put off until a suitable time, she wonders if the "right time" is ever going to present itself.<p>

You see, she's in love and it's kind of hard to explain.

There's this boy and he makes her head spin. She feels like she's floating so she has to snap out of it.

Maybe 'in love' is the wrong way to start this story off because, to be quite honest, all she knows about love she learned from a boy who gave her a key and then changed the locks.

Love is a big word, it's a capital L, it's a box of chocolates when it's not Valentine's Day. It's a drowsy "I love you," where you're not yet awake but you're conscious enough to know 'yes, you are the person I love.' It's calling to make sure you're okay or calling to make sure you know you'll eventually be okay. It's not knowing what birthday gift to buy so you buy _everything_; and you aren't **that** ashamed when you're caught.

It's kissing you when you're having a panic attack because you need to just _breathe_.

See, there's this boy and he makes her head spin but it's kind of hard to explain the rest.

She wants to hold his hand but she doesn't want to be too bold (I guess holding him under water made her lose her confidence).

There's something about him that makes her want to believe in a happy ending.

But he is kind, and she has bags under her eyes. He is wise, and she can't stop shaking. He is beautiful, and his eyes seem to say everything she needs to hear. He has nightmares, and she doesn't know how to help.

So, maybe she'll hold his hand as long as he doesn't grip too tight. She's not ready for this kind of Love, because this kind of Love doesn't have any guidelines or rules, and it's kind of hard to explain.

But she thinks he'll be able to.

* * *

><p>It's hard to follow, but I think, it began with a crayon.<p>

If you're able to remember, think back to being nine. For her, it's hazy at best. For him, he isn't going to forget.

Her favorite color is black. It makes her think of thunderstorms and closing your eyes for a nap. It makes her think of numbers and words, all written on the white board. It makes her think of the small print in all her books. She draws everything black, and the teacher offers a selection of various other colors to choose, but day after day, the girl is content and she says, "no."

He remembers the way the teacher looks frustrated. The teacher is wearing bright yellow heels and they click away. He remembers the way his shoes squeak when he walks over to her on the day her black crayon is all used up. She looks annoyed as she examines her other crayons, looking for a darker color than 'deep violet.'

He has a twenty-four pack, and he doesn't remember ever being so nervous. He thinks back to his best friend's advice to "tell her how you feel!"

He thinks it'd be a bit weird to open with, "I love you and I made my dad buy these crayons so I could give you the black one."

He settles for standing at her desk, stiff as a board, holding out to her the sole black crayon from his pack.

It takes a moment, but she eventually notices the boy standing in front of her with his big brown eyes wide with fear (he doesn't ever remember being this nervous). She looks at the crayon. She looks at his eyes. She looks at the way he stands still as a statue. Her little voice says, "Thank you." He nods and blinks at her and scrams back to his desk.

* * *

><p>There's this girl and she looks like sunshine after it's been raining.<p>

Her hair is long, and her smile is wide. She looks like she doesn't even try.

He thinks a lot about Love and he thinks a lot about death, and how he feels like if he doesn't say something, he'll burst.

Life seems short, especially when your best friend drags you along for near-death experiences every other day.

He works himself up, he gets ready for the right moment; because today's the day, but then it's the next and he still feels like somethings weighing down his chest.

Sometimes he thinks she knows. Well, obviously, she knows. He makes it easy to see. His eyes are expressive, his words are soft. She tells him that "I've never had someone care about me like you do."

But he thinks she knows that she's his anchor. Sure, it's been said, but she might know it's not just words. She's the center, she's the balance. She's the sun.

It's kind of hard to explain, unless you've experienced the same.

It's like, you spend your whole life caring about this one person, thinking in your head, that she's the one.

You keep waiting, and waiting, and it's okay, because you'd wait forever.

Somehow, he knows, he won't have to wait that long.

It's kind of hard to explain, but he knows, he just _knows_, it'll be soon.


End file.
